


Veronica Mars, Where Are You?

by cheshirecatstrut



Category: Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Fluff, Ridiculousness, Scooby Doo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 19:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8412997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecatstrut/pseuds/cheshirecatstrut
Summary: Scooby Doo/ Veronica Mars mash-up for the VMHQ Halloween monthly game. Veronica and friends investigate a mysterious haunting at the Neptune Grand.





	

     The Neptune Grand Hotel is a dark, sullen shape against the cloudy night sky, its penthouse-containing tower a spike blotting out the moon. In the distance, the storm unloading on the 02 produces a burst of lightning, which illuminates a flock of birds winging east.

     “Why are we driving around at midnight?” Wallace asks from the backseat, as Logan turns the XTerra into the parking garage. He reclines, dozing, against the window, propped by a red velvet pillow; Backup sprawls across his lap.

     “Didn’t you hear Veronica on the phone?” Logan eases into a VIP spot, yanks up the brake. “Or were you sleeping off your pizza binge? Apparently, Daddy Dearest is HAUNTING this hotel.”

     “Hey, I’m a growing boy,” Wallace says, unfazed. “I have certain caloric needs, and so does the dog. Right, Backup?”

       Backup barks as if he understands, which makes Mac smile.

     “Your ‘caloric needs’ are putting a strain on my budget.” She scratches Backup between his ears. “Paying a quarter of that bill doesn’t come as easily to me as to SOME individuals in this car– and all I had were two slices of veggie.”

     “Hey, I can’t help it if I’m rich, famous and generally amazing.” Logan nudges Veronica so she’ll quit texting. “And for the record, I was told by OTHER individuals that I should QUIT covering the tab.”

     “You’re part of the gang.” Veronica smirks at him as she pockets her phone. “You may not know what ‘egalitarian’ means, but I’m determined to someday teach you.”

     “Oh, the wit.” Logan leans down to kiss her. “I am slain.”

     Wallace yawns. “Wait…did you mention something about HAUNTING, while I was still waking up?”

     “Wow, you really WERE in a stupor,” Mac says. “We’re meeting Petra Landros in the lobby in three minutes. Apparently the ghost of Aaron Echolls has been stinking up the Grand’s hallowed halls.”

     “No, no, no, no, no, no, ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Wallace makes the time-out gesture. “I thought we established, after the last ghoulish mystery, that I am ALLERGIC to ghosts! Can’t we just stick to missing-laptop cases? Or dog-nappings?”

     Backup barks, and he amends, “Sorry, pal. CAT-nappings?”

     “There might be some snickerdoodles in your future, if you persevere,” Veronica says, climbing out of the car. “For you AND my dog, which you seem to be trying to steal.”

     “Hey, I can’t help it if I’m naturally lovable,” Wallace maintains. “Plus, it helps that I feed him…you know…”

     “People food?” Backup hops down and licks her leg, making her laugh. “Looks like ONE of you’s willing to make a deal.”

     “Better be at least two dozen,” Wallace grumbles, sleepily following his friends into the hotel. “In a SPIRIT BOX. By which I mean the peppy kind, not the spooky kind.”

XXXXX

     Petra Landros, former Victoria’s Secret model turned fabulously-wealthy widow, stands to greet them as they enter the lobby. She’s lost none of her curvy, green-eyed allure, but is dressed professionally in a chic black suit. “Thank you so much for coming,” she greets Logan, focusing her mega-watt smile on him. Veronica growls under her breath. “I know this must be traumatic, due to the nature of the problem. But honestly, I had nowhere else to turn. Ghost-nabbing investigative crews are thin on the ground, these days.”

     “When there’s something strange in your luxury suites, always call the professionals,” Veronica interjects, sticking out her hand. “Veronica Mars. Diminutive detective at large, here to handle your distressing haunting needs. These are my associates, Wallace Fennel and Mac Mackenzie. I’m sensing you know my BOYFRIEND; by his bad reputation, perhaps?”

     “We’ve never formally met, pumpkin,” Logan says, as Petra and Veronica shake. “Although of course I AM familiar with her work. It’s WALLACE here who’s the really BIG fan.”

     “And may I say, those Sports Illustrated photos don’t do you JUSTICE.” Wallace smiles, and offers his hand.

     “Aren’t you sweet?” Petra shakes, nodding in a friendly way at Mac. “Should we discuss the case over drinks in the lounge? Normally we don’t allow dogs; but I feel quite certain this is Mr. Echolls’ personal service dog? Perhaps a therapy companion?”

     “To get me past the grief of my father’s passing,” Logan confirms, at his smarmiest, palm pressed to his heart. Petra seals the deal with a wink.

     “Oh, sure, WALLACE is the big fan,” Veronica hisses as they follow Petra across the lobby, her sky-high heels silent on the deep-piled carpet. “You had her swimsuit poster in your LOCKER!”

     “Yeah, but I was young and frivolous then.” He kisses her temple. “Now I’m a sophisticated collegiate man of the world. Who’s completely uninterested in any charms but yours.”

     They seat themselves at a table in the lounge, clearly Petra’s favorite spot; it has a view of the front desk, automatic doors, and elevators. Only a few late-night stragglers are present and drinking, alone by the bar or at tables for two. On stage, an indie rock band is disassembling gear.

     “I’ve just inherited this hotel, after the recent, tragic death of my husband,” Petra begins, accepting the two martinis the waiter brings her with a smile. She tosses one back, then sips the other while the gang gives their orders. “Despite my lack of experience, I’m determined to run it myself. But this…haunting problem is driving off customers. The Ford Hotel Company has made a very generous offer, considering the circumstances. I don’t WANT to sell–but I may have to, if you kids can’t banish Aaron Echolls back to the Great Beyond.”

     “Or the Great Below, as the case may be,” Logan mutters, accepting his Scotch with a nod.

     Logan takes a drink of his Scotch, contemplative. “So where and how is my dearly departed paternal unit manifesting?”

     Petra sighs. “Well you know he was in one of our first-floor luxury suites, when he…well…”

    “Shuffled off this mortal coil?” Veronica chirps, aggressively sipping Sunkist.

    “Exactly.” Petra nods. “So the ghost usually confines himself to that area. But he’s also been seen in the penthouse suite, former residence of the younger Mr. Echolls, as well as this bar and the ballroom. I don’t know WHAT happened to your father in the ballroom, to be honest. But he appeared in the middle of a father/daughter dance last week, and caused a stampede.”

     “Are you sure it’s not an impostor?” Mac contributes, sipping her beer. “Wearing a mask? We see that a lot, in our line of business.”

     “No, the ghost is…transparent. Not silent, however, by a long stretch. Unfortunately.”

     “Is there any indication that this apparition is REAL?” Veronica nudges Backup down, as he puts his paws on her knee. “I mean, other than the pompous speechifying?”

      “Well, at one point, he left this behind,” Petra says. She rummages in the pocket of her fitted blazer, and pulls out a gold lighter engraved with the slogan ‘FREE AT LAST’.

      Veronica takes it, studying intently. Wallace sets down his beer, cranes closer to see. “Logan, didn’t this belong to your grandfather?”

     Logan accepts the thing for a closer look, runs a thumb over its engraving. “Yeah, but never Aaron. It belonged to my mother, then me…until it went missing a few weeks ago.”

     Veronica takes the object back, drops it into her messenger bag. “Looks like we’ve got another mystery on our hands.” She nods decisively at Petra. “We’ll take the case.”

     “That’s wonderful,” Petra says, warmly, directing her smile at Logan. “I feel sure if anyone can resolve this dilemma, it’s you.”

     “Can we talk to any workers who were present for this…phenomenon?” Mac asks. “Maybe they noticed something you’ve missed.”

      “Sure.” Petra does a one-eighty scan of her domain. “In fact, I see three people you should meet. Walk with me. We’ll start with the nearest and work our way out.”

      She leads the way to a table in the corner, where a slender blonde dressed in pink is drinking an even-pinker cocktail. “Caitlin Ford,” Petra says, making the blonde turn, “I’d like to introduce some friends of mine, who’ve come to investigate our ghostly mystery. Veronica, Mac, Wallace…and of course you must recognize Logan Echolls.”

      “Oh, we know each other,” Caitlin stands; takes Veronica’s hand limply, lets it slip away. “We went to the same loser high school, until I got sick of slumming and moved to LA.”

     “The PINK part of LA, I see,” Veronica says, to pre-empt Logan’s next comment. “You must be the buyer for Ford Hotels. Here to coax Ms. Landros to sell?”

     “Yah, I have an IMPORTANT job now.” Caitlin traces a finger along the rim of her Cosmo glass. “I’m not a LOSER living off my trust fund, like some people I could name.”

     “Because it really takes a winner to succeed due to nepotism?” Logan asks, sweetly. Veronica elbows him, but Caitlin doesn’t know four-syllable words.

     “That’s right,” Caitlin says, haughtily. “I’m a winner now. And once I score this hotel for our company, I’ll be the best…acquisitioner in the whole department. So stuff THAT on your lunch tray and ignore me with it!”

     She pokes Logan in the chest with an extra-long fuchsia fingernail, stalks away. Wallace says, “You know, usually people MATURE after they graduate.”

     “That implies some capacity for rational reflection.” Mac smiles faintly. “She seemed more concerned with her mic drop; although she really should have puttered off on a pink Vespa for maximum effect. Ms. Landros, I encourage you to drive a hard bargain. You can take Caitlin Ford for whatever you want.”

     Petra winks, and says, “Caitlin’s been staying at the hotel so we can conduct negotiations, but she hasn’t actually SEEN the ghost. Let me introduce you to someone who HAS.”

     “Right over there,” Petra says, pointing. “The guitarist for our house band, Stosh Piznarski. I’m sure he’ll have…LOTS of observations to make on the nature of our troublesome haunting.”

     She leads them to a shaggy-haired dirty blonde with white teeth, and re-performs introductions. “The ghost appeared onstage during the band’s set three nights ago,” she explains, “and frightened the audience away. Stosh found the experience traumatizing.”

     “Oh, for sure, I’m forever scarred,” Stosh says. “I mean, I was RIGHT at the bridge of my new indie-folkcore song, ‘Sounds Like Candy’…indie-folkcore’s my own term, it means kind of rocky and indie, but also smooth and folky, yet with EDGE, you know? Because we’re a SERIOUS band, like we’re really professionally investigating a recording contract. Only it’s difficult because labels just care about cash these days. The SOUL of good underground music is getting lost in the shuffle.”

     He stares at the crew, clearly expecting a response, and Logan prompts, “The ghost?”

     “Oh, yeah, of course, because that’s what you’re investigating. You didn’t ask about the state of modern music, which let me tell you, is deplorable. Auto-tune, ugh! Am I right? And YouTube, peddling songs for free, when musicians are going broke? Anyway, so I was at the bridge, the part that goes “Oooh, sounds like candy, tastes like love songs, smells like sunshine.” See, it’s a play on words, because you expect things to TASTE like food….”

     Logan sighs, loudly, crossing his arms, and Stosh gets to the point. “And then the ghost appeared, center-stage. Yelled about how everybody has a breaking point, and the ghost had reached his; the bachelorette party on the dance floor screamed and scattered. I didn’t really see what happened next, because I was hiding behind the amps. But my bass player Trevor–that’s him over there, sporting the alternative, yet deeply sincere, styling—said the ghost pulled a gun. He pointed it at what was left of the audience, then disappeared in a flash of light.”

     “A flash of light, you say? INTERESTING.” Mac peers around the room, arms folded, studying the roofline. Nods as if her suspicions are confirmed, and strides towards the far wall.

     “Sure, I guess so,” Stosh concedes, removing the 1967 Gretsch Astro-Jet Red-top strap from his neck and putting the guitar away. “Although not as interesting as indie-folkcore, in my opinion. Hey, Veronica, that’s your name, right? I couldn’t help but notice you’re wearing an Arcade Fire t-shirt. Does that mean you’re interested in mysteries AND music? Because I have a lot of theories about both that I wouldn’t mind sharing. You know, if you have time, and also a real willingness to let go of your preconceived not….”

     Logan takes Veronica’s hand and walks off; she elbows him, and a flurry of sarcastic whispering ensues. Petra follows. Wallace tells Stosh, “Sorry man. I guess she DIGS her preconceived notions,” and whistles for Backup to come along.

     Mac ambles up as they cross the lobby, hand closed around a small object. Petra leads them to the check-in desk, where a cheerful blonde beams, and gives a couple their room key.

     “Well, hello there,” the blonde says, sizing Logan up, the wattage of her grin increasing. “Aren’t you guys a little young to be detectives?”

     “This is Tina Callis, our weeknight desk clerk,” Petra says. “She witnessed the second appearance of the ghost…when he showed up during a wedding, and caused a riot in the lobby.”

     “Yeah, that was interesting,” Tina says, wry. “There was a thunderstorm, and they ran outside in all their finery. The mother of the bride threatened to sue.”

     “Did you actually SEE the ghost?” Veronica asks. “Or did he only appear in the ballroom?”

     “Well I wasn’t there when he APPEARED,” Tina says. “I mean, my job involves standing behind this desk. But I heard he shouted, “I object!” at a critical moment, then smacked his hand on the canape table—the groom rushed to protect his custom-made porcelain Party Pig. After which the ghost took off running across the dance floor, towards the father of the bride. I DID see him storm into the lobby. He screamed ‘I’ll see you in HELL!’, and fell to his knees. Right before he disappeared, that is.”

     “In a flash of light?” Veronica asks, and Tina winks and points.

      “He LOOKED ghostly, too…grey and see-through. I recognized him as Aaron Echolls, like I told Ms. Landros; but he seemed younger than the version in the papers, last year.”

     “He’d be ECSTATIC to hear it,” Logan mutters. Veronica gives him a sympathetic pat.

     “Tina, did you REALLY put the Baumgartens in Room 313?” a voice demands behind them. They turn as a hawk-like guy in hotel uniform approaches the desk, arms testily crossed. “I TOLD you that suite has a leak from the foyer air vent! It’s dripping into Mrs. Baumgarten’s suitcase!”

     “Jeff Ratner,” Petra murmurs. “The hotel’s night manager, and another witness.”

     “Manny from maintenance told me this morning that was fixed!” she protests. “Didn’t you put a work order in last week?”

     “Manny may have THOUGHT it was fixed,” Ratner says haughtily, “but he was wrong. Kindly locate another room, and I’ll help them move.”

     “How about a suite?” Tina types quickly, looking apologetic. “Nothing like an upgrade for soothing wounded sensibilities.” She programs a card key, hands it over.

     “Can you tell us a little bit about the Aaron Echolls sightings?” Mac asks, before Ratner can stalk off. “You’re the manager, so you must know what’s happening.”

     “Ugh, it’s OBVIOUSLY some kind of prank,” he says. “Ghosts aren’t real, and THIS one isn’t even REALISTIC. No actor that hammy could have three Oscars.”

     Logan covers a laugh with a cough, and Veronica asks, “What makes you think it’s a prank?”

     “I don’t know, maybe the fact that the apparitions happen at the same time every day…between ten and midnight? My advice is, look into all the teenagers working the graveyard shift, and double your focus on the smirkiest ones. SOMEONE’S amusing themselves at the customers’ expense; but let me tell you, I don’t find it funny.”

     “Give my apologies to the Baumgartens!” Tina calls after him as he hurries away, then smiles at the gang. “Is there anything else you need to know?”

     “How about we get them rooms for the night?” Petra suggests. “That way, they can make themselves comfortable while we wait for the next haunting.”

     “You’re the boss!” Tina says with a grin. “Three adjacent business-class work?”

     Veronica nods, and she locates card keys. “408, 409 and 410,” Tina says, handing them over. “Enjoy your stay. Here’s hoping you can solve this problem before we have to look for other jobs!”

XXXXX

     “So who’s figured the obvious part out?” Logan asks, as they board the elevator and punch button four.

     “I recognized the quote from Breaking Point,” Veronica says, “because you made Lilly, Duncan and I go with you to the premiere. But the origin of the other speech eludes me.”

     Logan tsks. “You’re thinking RECENT roles. May I remind you of the Al-Pacino-costarring corrupt-mentor drama “The Sins of Lawyers”? Nobody in MY family was allowed to forget. It was his first multi-million dollar paycheck.”

     “I must’ve blocked that out,” Veronica says. Wallace snorts. “What did you find on the floor, Mac? I notice you hid it from Petra.”

     Mac extends her hand, palm up, reveals a small but high-tech tape degausser. “Looks like SOMEBODY wants to scare the customers, then eliminate all evidence,” she says, as the doors open and they climb off.

     “So you’re telling me the ghost is some kind of trick, like that Ratner guy claimed?” Wallace sighs his relief. “I guess WE’LL sleep better tonight, won’t we, Backup? And the best part is, we can order ROOM SERVICE!”

     “If you feed Backup room service, he’ll never come home,” Veronica grumbles, locating her door and inserting the card key.

     “You won’t miss him for one night, while you’re shut up in a suite with Logan,” Wallace scoffs. “Backup likes steak and hates ghosts, so he gets to be my pal.”

     Backup barks agreement, and Mac rolls her eyes. “I’m going to visit the surveillance room, see if any spooky incidents were captured on film,” she says. “I’ll text you guys if I learn anything.”

     “Come on, boy.” Wallace opens his door and snaps at Backup. “Five-star cuisine on Petra Landros AWAITS!”

     “You know what I’D like to investigate?” Logan asks, twirling Veronica into their room and locking up.

     “Let’s see if I can guess.” Veronica leans back against the wall, grinning. “Political corruption? The nanny state?”

     “Mmmm, close.” He nuzzles the side of her neck, and her smile gets wider. “I was thinking that nice big mattress over there. And anything that happens to be lying on top of it.”

XXXXX

     Stuffed with steak, baked potatoes, and a shared serving of the Grand’s signature ribs, Wallace sleeps the sleep of the replete. Until, that is, he’s awakened at midnight by the sound of Backup growling.

     His eyes pop open, fix on the fish sculpture over the bed; it pulsates, blue, then changes colors. His heart pounds, because another sound has reached his ears…that of anguished moaning.

     Wallace prides himself on being the most level-headed member of the gang—he’s never lost in super-genius reveries, like Mac, or so obsessed with his significant other he can’t see facts in front of his face. But he’s always the one who ends up fleeing the creepy specters; and LIVE Aaron Echolls was scary enough, from what Logan’s hinted.

     He turns slowly, knowing he has to look, and yeah, there it is…a translucent, real-live (or maybe real-DEAD) Echolls Senior, dressed in a toga, wearing an expression of deranged rage.

     “HOW MAY A MORTAL MAN FACE AND DEFEAT THE KRAKEN?” It screams, face going an interesting shade of purple, and storms towards the bed. Wallace flees, in search of corroborating (and less freaked out) witnesses.

     “NOTHING IS INVULNERABLE!” the ghost yells, chasing Wallace into the hall. Backup yelps, and runs beside him.

     “VERONICA MARS IS!” Wallace shouts, pounding on her door as he runs past. “She may not be completely unkillable, but she’s damn close!”

     “Wallace?” Veronica calls from inside the room. Her door swings open, and she emerges, wrapped in a sheet. “Wallace, are you OK?”

     “WHAT ABOUT THE BLOOD?” the ghost demands, halting and turning towards her. Then vanishes, in a flash of light.

     Wallace sinks to the floor as doors around him start opening, revealing concerned guests. He plants his forearms on his knees, hides his face. Backup flops beside him and mirrors the gesture, nose buried beneath his paws. Logan appears behind Veronica, wrapped in a towel, and drapes a Neptune Grand bathrobe over her shoulders.

     “Dude, what happened?” Logan asks. Veronica ducks back into the room, to tie the sash and lose the sheet.

     “I understand you a lot better now,” Wallace says, lifting his head. “Your dad IS scary when he gets mad.”

     Logan’s mouth flattens, acknowledging this truth, and Veronica pats him on the back as she shoulders him aside. “He WAS scary, but now he’s DEAD.” She hunkers down beside Wallace, makes a shooing motion at the avid guests. “Move along! Show’s over! Nothing to see here!”

     “Except you in a bathrobe,” Wallace corrects. “You WOULD be fooling around with your boyfriend mid-investigation, instead of waiting for the ghost to turn up.”

     “Oh, like you didn’t eat and take a nap,” she scoffs. “You know that was a scene from Perseus and Medusa we just witnessed, right? Aaron’s first movie?”

     “I DON’T know,” Wallace says, dry. “I wasn’t born when that film came out, and also I’m not a geek.”

     “The super-short purple toga didn’t set off ‘maybe this is a sham’ alarms?”

     “Leave him alone.” Logan grips his towel tighter as it tries to slip. “Getting chased by Dear Old Dad is zero percent fun.”

     “What’s going on?” Mac calls, approaching down the hall at a trot. Petra Landros is close behind, dressed in a Lakers t-shirt and jeans. She stops short, noticing Logan’s dishabille—then approaches more slowly, with extra sashay.

     “Yeah,” a man says, distracting Wallace from Petra’s hip sway. He opens the adjacent door, and sticks out his tousled dark head. “What IS going on? Can’t a guy drink Scotch from the mini-bar, and watch ‘Kiss Kiss Bang Bang’ in peace?”

     The guy ambles into the hall, dressed in sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. He’s followed by Kendall Casablancas, conversely clad in a skin-tight black dress. Logan’s smirk lengthens, and he asks, “Since when do you show up this late at the Grand to watch MOVIES?”

     Kendall eyes his towel with a raised brow; but her retort is interrupted by an excited Veronica. “You’re Desmond Fellowes!” she accuses the rumpled stranger. “Eighties pop sensation, and lead singer of My Pretty Pony!”

     “Yep,” Desmond agrees, giving Veronica the once-over. “Guitly as charged, cute blonde in a bathrobe. Guilty. As. Charged.”

     “So what’s the problem out here?” Kendall wants to know. “Is that ghost refusing to shut up AGAIN?”

     “I’m sorry you were disturbed,” Petra tells her, a little desperate. “The situation’s under control.”

     “Well I think it’s awesome that this hotel is haunted,” Desmond says, still eying Veronica. “It ups the cool factor, which raging party animals such as myself are ALL ABOUT.”

     “That ghost just chased me down the hall in a miniskirt, screaming about blood,” Wallace says. “Not as cool an experience as some might think.”

     “Whoa, dude, bummer,” Desmond murmurs, clearly not caring. “Well hey, this has been super fun, always great to meet the fans. But I REALLY want to know how that movie ends. So later, kids!”

     “Enjoy your cinematic experience,” Logan tells Kendall, lightly mocking.

     “You know me,” she retorts, tossing her hair. “I’m more about the nightcaps, when someone rich is springing for booze.”

     Wallace gets up from the floor, shrugging off the ghost. “Too much excitement. Backup and I need to fortify ourselves with a late-night snack. Is room service still available?”

     “I’m afraid not,” Petra tells him, smiling. “We can find you something comforting in the hotel kitchen, though.”

     “This place serves an excellent buffalo burger,” Logan contributes, but Wallace shakes his head.

     “These nerves right here will only be satisfied with pudding.”  He winks at Petra, who thrillingly, seems receptive.

     “I think we should split up and look for clues,” Veronica announces, clutching the neck of her bathrobe closed. “Ms. Landros, is anyone staying in the penthouse suite this evening? If not, can Logan and I look around?”

     “No, we’ve had a hard time filling that room since…you know,” Petra says. “I’ll send someone up with a key, while you…get dressed.”

     “I’d like to question the restaurant staff about the wedding appearance,” Mac says. “How about I go with Wallace? You two can meet us in the kitchen once you’re done.”

     “Sounds like a plan,” Logan says. “Backup, make sure you leave some food for the other guests.”

     Backup barks at the sound of his name, goes wagging off towards a meal.         

XXXXX

     “So THIS place hasn’t changed much,” Veronica says, trailing a finger along the back of the Presidential Suite’s couch. “Still as blandly luxurious as ever, though probably more expensive. Have I told you how glad I am you bought a house?”

     “Aw, admit it, you miss the remote-controlled fireplace.” Logan strolls into the room that used to be his, checks his hair in the mirror over the bureau. “And the maid service. Also, the never ending supply of food. You and Wallace are best friends for a reason.”

     “Yeah, that’s why I hung out here so much,” she says, kneeling on the carpet to look under the couch. “Because I liked THOSE things.”

     “Oh, my trust-fund-fueled largesse wasn’t the draw?” He emerges from his primp, gazes appreciatively down at her. “Then you must have admired my video game prowess.”

     He extends a hand to help her up, pulls her into his arms. “Mmmm, I think it was your humility,” she muses. “And your penchant for thrift.”

     Logan laughs. “Maybe someday they’ll canonize me.” He spins her in a circle. “So what are we looking for, anyway?”

     “Clues!” she says. “Specifically, I want to know how the ghost–or the thing we’re meant to BELIEVE is a ghost–got into this room. Sounds like he’s appeared in select locations, not all over the hotel; there must be a reason.”

     “So we’re searching for anything out of the ordinary?” he asks. “Because other than new drapes, this place looks the same as ever. Bad art and all.”

     Veronica grimaces at the metal iguana on the wall. “The decorator definitely had a thing for weird animal sculpture. Why is this even here?”

     Logan shrugs. “Because tacky is the watchword?”

     “It’s the only piece of art in the suite, though. Unless you count the glowing fish everywhere, which personally I can’t classify as artistic. So what makes THIS important enough to display?”

     She pokes at the metal, tugs; there’s a loud rasping-grinding noise, which makes Logan cover his ears. Two feet to the left of the statue, a section of wall sinks backwards, creating a door that leads into blackness.

     “Well, well, WELL,” Veronica says, with a satisfied smirk. “Now we know how the Access Hollywood photographer got in that one time, and took pictures of your underwear drawer.”

     She removes a flashlight from her purse as Logan murmurs, “I feel retroactively vulnerable,” flicks it on; strides through the door. Logan rolls his eyes to the heavens, and reluctantly follows.

     The doorway leads to a staircase, which winds around and down in near darkness—only a few periodic night-lights illuminate it. “Be careful,” he warns, as she clomps onward in high-heeled boots. “You know how danger-prone you are.”

     “Oh, I’M danger prone? I can’t leave you alone for five MINUTES without someone accusing you of murder!”

     “What can I say?” Logan puts a hand on her shoulder, steadying her as she skids on damp tile. “I have one of those faces that says ‘frame me’, I guess.”

     Veronica snorts, turning a corner. The stairs dead-end at a wooden door with an old-fashioned iron handle, out of place in the modern hotel. She yanks and it opens, oiled and noiseless.

     They emerge into the Grand’s ballroom, which retains the Art Deco glamour of the original (smaller) hotel. Veronica spins, noting the number of molding-outlined archways, all of them mimicking the size and shape of this door. She looks at Logan with arched brows.

     “So EVERY room has a secret passageway?” he deduces.

     “Not ALL,” she says. “But at least…twenty do, I’m guessing. Of course, these passages would have been built a hundred years ago. Who knows how many are still intact?”

     “SOMEONE does,” he observes, pulling her into a dance hold, taking her for a turn across the room. Grimaces as his elbow knocks into a weird elephant statue, remarkably like the one a decorator put in his childhood bedroom. “And that someone’s using the information to scam Petra Landros.”

     “We should find Wallace and Mac,” Veronica decides. “Before they eat too much pudding to be mobile. I think we need to go ghost hunting.”

XXXXX

     Unaware of Veronica’s plans, Wallace, Mac and Backup are enjoying a midnight snack in the Grand’s kitchen, comforted by the swishing dishwasher and Snow Patrol, played low.

     “I don’t see how you managed to eat four of these.” Mac pushes away her dish of crème brulee. “I can’t even finish ONE.”

     “Sign up for basketball,” Wallace advises, nudging Backup with his foot. The dog sighs and settles, resting his chin on Wallace’s shoe. “Or guard dog duties. They take a toll on the calorie stores.”

     “I think I’ll stick to my skill set.” Mac extracts her phone from her pocket and checks for messages again. “Hacking, coding, finding clues, and amusing myself at dumb 09’ers’ expense.”

     “See, now, that’s the problem with this gang. You all ENJOY solving mysteries. Or, you and Veronica do, and Logan likes being next to her. Me, I’m just into good meals, hanging with my friends, and making the starting lineup at every game. Yet I’m the one the ghosts ALWAYS chase.”

     “You’re just lucky, I guess,” Mac says. “Although for the record, they never turn out to be real ghosts.”

     “There’s always a first time,” he says darkly. “You weren’t around for Aaron Echolls’ toga rant. I could see right THROUGH the man!”

     “Then you know I can take you apart without breaking a SWEAT!” A voice says, behind them.

     They turn in unison, and there’s the specter, dressed in rags, smudged with smoke, and looking like he’s had a bad day. “DON’T CROSS ME!” he yells; they scramble out of their chairs and take off at a run.

     Wallace circles the enormous kitchen island, Mac and Backup skidding after. The ghost cackles and walks right THROUGH. Mac fumbles behind her on the counter for a weapon, accidentally grabs the towel rack. The floor opens up beneath them.

     They fall en masse, shrieking and barking, through a trap door, and down a dusty slide.

XXXXX

     “Mac DID say to meet them in the kitchen, right?” Veronica turns in a circle to survey the industrial space. Looks over her shoulder at Logan for confirmation.

     “That’s what I heard.” He studies the room for clues, as she wipes a smudge of lip gloss off his mouth. Points. “Looks like they WERE here. Nobody but Wallace can put away four crème brulees in half an hour without serious digestive consequences.”

     “This one’s not finished.” Veronica gestures at Mac’s dish. “And there’s music playing.” She squints, searching, locates the kitchen staff’s boom box on a metal cart. “Wallace wants to impress Petra Landros. He wouldn’t leave a mess behind. Something happened.”

     “Do you hear…very faint yelling?” Logan cocks his head to better listen. “Like someone calling our names over and over, then shouting ‘ball sack’?”

     “It’s coming from behind that counter.” Veronica detours around the kitchen island. “And it’s ‘towel rack’, you perv.”

     “Like this one, perhaps?” He does a game-show-hostess wave in display. “OK, now they’re saying ‘pull my…’”

     Veronica rolls her eyes, grabs the rack, and yanks on it. The trap door creaks open, and they gaze down confusedly at an irritated Wallace, Backup and Mac.

     “This hotel’s hiding all KINDS of surprises,” Logan murmurs. He tests the slipperiness of the ramp with one sneaker, then makes his effortless way down. “If this secret room connects an unlimited ice cream supply to the Presidential suite, will you make me move back?”

     “Oh thank God,” Mac says, as Logan extends an arm to help Veronica descend. “We’ve been trapped for half an hour. And all the dust in this room has been playing hell with my…my…AAAAH-CHOO!” She sneezes, glasses flying off, then gropes around on the floor until Wallace hands them over.

     “What IS this place?” Veronica asks, retrieving the flashlight from her purse and looking around. “It reminds me of the AV lab at school. Or at least glimpses of the AV lab I got, as I passed on my way to Pep Squad practice.”

     “It’s certainly full of AV equipment,” Mac says. “Both film and slide projectors, equipment carts, old PC’s. There’s even a cell phone interceptor in here.”

     “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Veronica asks her, donning that facial expression Wallace dreads.

     “I’ll bet I AM,” Mac replies, grinning.

     “It’s time to set a trap for our spooky celebrity,” Veronica decides. “And I know just how to do it. Now all we need is bait.”

     Everyone’s eyes fix on Wallace and Backup. The dog hides behind a projector screen, whining. Wallace winces, because he knows the drill.

     “Oh no,” Wallace says, waving both hands in negation. He’s been Bad Guy Bait ENOUGH times, and he has to at least give refusal a shot. “NOT interested. That ghost’s chased me twice now, in the space of twenty-four hours. And neither experience was memorable for the right reasons.”

     “Would a nice, warm, fresh batch of snickerdoodles persuade you?” Veronica asks, doing the big-melting-eyes and head-tilt routine that’s charmed less congenial men. “How about you, Backup? All the dog cookies you can eat, boy. It’s a one-time deal.”

     Backup emerges from behind the screen, pant-grinning, and leans against Veronica’s knee for scratches. “Traitor,” Wallace murmurs.

     Veronica bats eyes, which seem, impossibly, to have gotten larger, and Wallace caves. “Fine,” he says. “This ONE time. But don’t make asking me a habit.”

     “I said those exact words once, man,” Logan tells him, with a wink. “Back when I was twelve. She’s coaxed me into trouble every week since.”

     “Quiet, you.” Veronica smacks his arm. “Ix-nay on the evealing-ray of my ams-scay. A girl’s got a right to her secrets.”

     “Is one of your secrets the plan we’re about to enact, to capture the bad guy?” Logan folds his arms, but his gaze is tender. “Because otherwise, quit trying to create an air of personal mystery and spill.”

     “Fine, spoilsport.” She brushes her hands together. “Let’s climb back up that ramp, and I’ll tell you guys exactly what we need to do. Since we don’t have trench coats and a silenced pistol, we’ll have to stick to classic techniques.”

XXXXX

     Logan snaps his phone shut. “Well, I had to promise her a line of credit at Tiffany’s, but she agreed; they’ll be here in a minute. She MAY have hinted that Petra’s up for…shenanigans.”

     “That woman’s manipulative skills are fearsome,” Veronica says, sounding less than complimentary. “And I know whereof I speak.”

     “I just wanna get this over with.” Wallace bounces, anxious, on his toes. “I may never look at room service the same way again.”

     “Just keep your eyes on the snickerdoodle prize,” Veronica tells him, giving Backup a pat. “And get behind those curtains. You don’t want to be spotted before it’s time to pounce.”

     Veronica, Logan and Mac duck into Logan’s former room, leaving the door open a crack so they can peer through. Wallace ducks beneath the Presidential suite’s drapes, snapping for Backup to follow. Adjusts the fabric, so the dog’s tail doesn’t show.

     It’s dark in his hiding place, the heavy striped cloth muffling sound; but Wallace hears the beep of the electronic door, then Petra Landros’ voice (and man is SHE a nice lady, in addition to being gorgeous). “So THIS is our Presidential Suite,” she says, in the manner of a tour guide. “It’s our most luxurious, with two full bedrooms and baths, a living room, a balcony and a kitchenette. If you were to buy the hotel, and wanted to keep a room for your own personal use, this is the one I’d recommend.”

     “Cool, cool,” Desmond Fellowes says. Wallace can picture him not looking around, because it’s highly unlikely he cares. “We could throw some real ragers in here, couldn’t we babe? Hey, Petra, how ‘bout you show me the john, because I have to take a whiz. And then maybe we could check out the Jacuzzi tub?”

     Wallace hears footsteps moving away, a door opening and shutting. Then, muffled, “Gross! Why is there so much hair in this drain?”

     After a moment, there’s a faint, creaking sound. Wallace peeks out past velvet as the secret door opens, and a masked figure, dressed in black, creeps into the suite.

     The black-clad figure skulks over to the mantel, picks up an old electric toothbrush hidden there, and uses it to press a recessed button on the sculpture above. The glowing fish begins to whir. The figure backs up, waiting, until a projection of Aaron Echolls appears, wearing chaps and a white hat.  Turns back towards the secret door, with a satisfied huff.

     “AIN’T NO RUSTLERS GONNA POACH ON MY TERRITORY!” Aaron roars. Which is when Wallace, mindful of his task, strikes.

     “Hey you!” he shouts, leaping from behind the curtain, and rushing straight through the projected image. “Yeah, you, Man in Black! You better surrender right now, because the jig is UP!”

     The rest of the gang bursts out of Logan’s old room; Petra, Kendall and Desmond appear in Duncan’s doorway. The mysterious figure flees, descending the secret staircase–Wallace and Backup follow.

     Down the slippery steps they chase, the voice of Aaron echoing behind them…”I’LL HOGTIE YOU, AND LEAVE YOU FOR THE ANTS!” The disguised intruder moves fast, clearly familiar with the hotel’s tunnels; despite his basketball training (or maybe because of the four crème brulees) Wallace has a hard time keeping pace.

     He reaches the bottom just as the figure wrenches the door open, and goes skidding out into the ballroom. It looks left and right, searching for an escape route, steps decisively onto the rug in the center….and is caught in the hidden net beneath. Then slowly hauled into mid-air, as Jeff Ratner cranks the winch.

     The rest of the gang appears at the ballroom door, while Wallace puts hands on knees and gasps for breath. Mac approaches, concerned; murmurs, “In through the nose, out through the mouth. And maybe lay off the cheeseburgers, or up the cardio.”

     Wallace shoots her a dirty look…but Backup, energized by the recent game of chase, licks her hand. Veronica surveys the captured villain with a self-satisfied smirk. Petra asks, “How did you know the culprit would sneak into the room, if Desmond pretended to be a buyer?”

     “Easy,” Logan says, shushing Veronica when she tries to interrupt. “As Mac will tell you, I didn’t get to the final level of Hot Shots by being…slow upstairs. Desmond Fellowes is the EPITOME of an indie-folkcore star. And despite his desire to scotch the hotel sale, our villain just HAD to get a glimpse of this living legend.”

     He pulls the mask off the ghost purveyor’s face, and Wallace says, “Stosh Piznarski?”

     “Wow.” Desmond shakes his head, disbelieving. “Piznarski. Dude. If you chase chicks this way too, you’re NEVER gonna get laid. I mean I know I’m awesome…BELIEVE me, I know…but haunting a whole hotel just to peek at me from around a corner feels…needy.”

     “And you expected suavity from a man in an argyle sweater?” Mac asks. Logan shoots her a dirty look.

     “I couldn’t help but notice that Stosh’s band played to an audience of five,” Logan says haughtily, turning a shoulder to Mac. “That’ll place a hotel entertainment career in jeopardy. I think he was hoping for more congenial management…who might allow an irritating minor character who talks too much to take center stage.”

     “That’s an interesting theory, there, Holmes,” Veronica says, smirking. “But I wouldn’t lay down the magnifying glass just yet.”

     She grabs Stosh by the hair, yanks. A second mask slips off, and the assembled crowd gasps.

     “Caitlin Ford!” the group exclaims, en masse.

     “Yep,” Veronica says, smug. “This is a classic ‘drive down the value of a product so you can buy it for a pittance’ gambit. Frankly, I wouldn’t have guessed Caitlin had the chops. I guess she paid ATTENTION in business school.”

     “But how did she make ghosts appear in so many places?” Petra asks.

     “Simple,” Veronica says. “Audio-visual equipment, planted in the ubiquitous fish sculptures. All the spectral visitations were scenes from Aaron Echolls movies; Caitlin just pressed a button, and played a videotape. Then later, she erased the tapes with a degausser, to cover her tracks. She used the secret tunnels to move around the Grand unseen–in a family of hotel magnates, hidden passages are probably dinner table conversation.”

     “But Logan was sure the culprit was Stosh,” Mac says. “And to be honest, I thought it was disgruntled employee Jeff Ratner–that’s why I wanted to question his co-workers. What made you realize Caitlin was our villain?”

     “The lighter,” Veronica says. “As soon as I saw it, I knew the guilty party had been in Logan’s house. So it HAD to be an 09’er…likely someone at his Halloween Hijinx Fete, a few weeks back. I figured Caitlin was the obvious suspect. She could wrangle a plus-one invite from one of his friends, and dress in costume, so Logan wouldn’t kick her out.”

     “The Sexy Pink Panther!” Logan snaps his fingers. “I KNEW she gave me a bad vibe!”

     “Also,” Veronica adds, “It couldn’t have been an employee. The hauntings happened outside of normal work / sleep periods, and just after cocktail hour.”

     “But everybody in the Ford family is disgustingly rich,” Kendall protests. “I dated Brandon Ford for fifteen minutes, back when I was a Laker Girl, and let me tell you…he made Big Dick look like a hobo. Caitlin Ford doesn’t NEED to buy this hotel enough to put forth effort.”

     Everybody turns to look at Caitlin, who rolls her eyes and sighs. “It’s all because of Ibiza,” she confesses.

     “Seriously, Veronica Mars, your explanation was so five minutes ago.” Caitlin pouts, examining her very pink fingernails. “Yeah, I wanted to buy the hotel, so I could throw my success in certain peoples’ faces. But really I just needed to make my quota. I do that, my dad leaves me alone, and I get to pursue the career I ACTUALLY want.”

     “Which is?” Wallace shakes his head, because rich people.

     “DJ in Ibiza. Like I SAID, duh.” Caitlin sighs. “That’s where the really HOT action is. The hotel business blows. Can you, like, let me out of this net now? It’s messing up my hair.”

     “We’ll release you,” Petra tells her. “But you won’t be making your quota on the purchase of my business. The Neptune Grand is no longer for sale.”

     “Whatever,” Caitlin says. “Like I need your stupid hotel. There’s always reality TV, if I want to make a quick buck. They’ll pay me to do ANYTHING on camera.”

     “Aw, see, guys? Happy endings all around!” Logan smirks, sarcasm set to stun. “I guess congratulations are in order, IN RE the new low to which you’ve sunk. Should we throw a party, with caged lions? And maybe a really narcissistic face cake?”

     “Sure,” she says, careless. “We can celebrate how I totally outsmarted you. I would have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn’t for Veronica Mars. And her dog, who runs a whole lot faster than THAT guy.”

     She points at Wallace, who crosses his arms defensively. Mutters, “It was the crème brulee.”

     Backup barks happily, like he recognizes praise when he hears it, and everybody laughs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the ladies of VMHQ and the Hive Mind for the brainstorming help. Especially CMackenzie, who works so hard to make all these great games, and does a badass beta besides. :-)


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